Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Maggie
H e’s okay. The sight of him climbing down from the engine steals my breath. Simultaneously stops my heart and socks me in the gut. I take two steps toward him, drawn by the need to touch him. Laying eyes on him isn’t enough.
I’ve been on pins and needles since my shop rumbled around me. News of the explosion traveled hot and fast through Main Street as patrons checked in on each other and then flooded the local social media pages.
Within minutes, I knew just how dire the situation was. Someone was trapped, in need of rescue. My stomach was in knots, because I knew Jackson would be in the thick of it, putting his life on the line to get to that person.
The wait was too excruciating to sit through.
I drove past the factory but couldn’t get a glimpse of any of the rescue personnel, so I did the next best thing and drove to the station, where I’ve been waiting for what feels like forever.
Waiting for him to come back. I could’ve called.
But I needed to confirm with my own eyes that he was okay.
Needed to put my arms around him and feel his around me.
This must have been how he felt seeing me for the first time when Jules’s coffee shop caught on fire and that deranged idiot tried to kill her.
Jackson crosses the parking lot like a man possessed. Still in his gear, exuding badass hero from every molecule of his being. Muscled and determined and larger than life.
His long legs eat the distance between us. Jaw clenched, brows furrowed like he’s angry at the world, he’s a man on a mission.
It’s deliciously sexy and terrifying at the same time. All I can do is stare at him as he barrels down on me.
Within a heartbeat, he’s crowding me. The world tunnels as he reaches for me, hands coming to my face, palms skimming my cheeks, his wild eyes glued to my mouth a second before his lips claim mine and his body slams into me.
I cling to his wrists as he walks us backward the two steps I gained, and my back lands against my car.
Holy shit, Jax is kissing me .
And not a soft press of his lips to mine. No, he’s kissing me like his life depends on it. With firm lips, in a tight hold that lets me know he’s not fully in control.
He smells like sweat and smoke and metal, and I don’t even care.
Because this feels so good. So right. I release my grip on his wrists, sliding my palms to the fabric covering the chest I’ve noticed way too often.
The worn material against my palms feels so good, my fingers curl as I pull him closer.
An involuntary sound rises from my throat, and the effect on him is immediate. One of his hands skims down my spine, pulling me into his hard body, while the other shifts to the back of my head, where he grips my hair and tilts me just the way he wants me.
A gasp escapes, and he takes full advantage. His tongue glides between my lips in a delicious, carnal thrust, and I combust .
More. I need more of this .
I unclench my fingers and skim my hands over his shoulders, down his biceps.
The need to touch him everywhere, make sure he’s whole and safe and here with me, takes over.
I wrap one arm around his back and one around his neck, and arch into him as I drive my fingers into his hair and hold tight, pulling him closer.
He goes feral.
His entire body strains against mine, muscles firming, becoming more intense as he changes the angle and takes the kiss deeper, pressing me harder against the car door.
This kiss is a clash of teeth, the smashing of lips, and the hot, slick slide of tongues. It’s one of hot breaths expelled on wet cheeks, of low moans and answering growls. I never want it to end. I want to wrap my legs around him. Completely consume him and never let this kiss end.
The sound of hydraulic brakes releasing pierces the moment, and Jackson relents, taking the kiss from hot and hard to soft nips and nibbles. And when he finally releases his hold on me and breaks away, we are both panting.
His forehead lands on mine as his thumb caresses the back of my head. His chest heaves against mine, his strong arms still wrapped around me, almost like he’s cradling me.
“Jesus.” It’s a breath against my tender, swollen lips.
From far away, the drone of the fire engine revs, and it begins rolling forward.
Jackson’s head pops up, and he flinches like he’s just realizing where we are.
The hand cupping my head disappears, and those fingers that were tangled in my hair slice into his as he takes a step back.
I stumble at the loss of him and look away from the bay, afraid someone saw us.
A touch mortified that Jackson suddenly acts like he’s second-guessing the last two minutes.
It’s the morning after the reception all over again.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Oh god . What if he regrets what just happened?
“Are you cursing actually kissing me? Or are you cursing about the fact someone may have seen us?”
Piercing blue eyes dart to mine as a whole host of emotions crosses his face, finally settling on concern. “Definitely the latter. Are you okay? I shouldn’t have?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I warn. “Whatever you’re about to confess or apologize for, just stop while you’re ahead. You can’t take a girl’s mouth like you just took mine and then apologize.”
Those glittering eyes darken as he watches my mouth, then he steps back into me. Claiming my mouth again.
This kiss isn’t as heady or passion fueled, but it’s all the more intoxicating because this kiss is intentional. This is Jackson making a statement.
I should stop this. We should stop.
We are out in the open, in front of his coworkers, for god’s sake.
Kissing like we can’t keep our hands off each other.
Like we do this all the time. Like we are more than friends.
Like there’s not another heart on the line.
Like we wouldn’t lose everything if this whatever-we-are relationship falls apart.
“I swear to god, if I weren’t on duty, I would take you to bed and show you all the ways I’m not sorry for kissing you. I should’ve done it sooner. Should’ve taken my shot when I first realized how much I like you. How much I care about you. How much I want you.”
He says this out loud. On a sunny day in the parking lot of his fire station, while he’s on duty. Just days after we decided that, for his sister’s sake, we can’t allow our connection to be anything more.
My stupid heart is ready to roll over and give him anything he wants.
“Jax.” The longing I feel whispers out on his name. I want him too, but… “We can’t do this. We promised.”
His forehead drops to mine, his hands cupping my cheeks again. “Here’s what I know. I was on that call not two hours ago, and I thought I was going to die?—”
“I knew you’d be in the thick of it. Rushing in to be a hero.” My stomach churns. Somehow, knowing he risked his life and having confirmation of it are vastly different.
His thumb grazes my chin, and he watches me with an intensity I’ve never felt from him.
“It was a calculated risk. But something happened to me while I was in there. And all I could think was that I was going to die, and I’d never kissed you.
And in that moment, it was the greatest regret of my life. ”
Everything about his admission rings with sincerity. From his tender touch to the way he’s watching me. This is full access to the inner workings of this man.
I rub my hand down his arm, thrilling over the stark contrast of the soft material of his T-shirt to the heat of his skin, running my fingers over his inked forearm and farther down. The pulse at his wrist pounds under my fingertips.
“Did you just realize your own mortality, Jax?”
He swallows. “Yeah.”
“Hey, you guys want burgers now?” The female medic, Kate, stands in the bay door, holding a tray in one hand and a spatula in the other.
Jackson’s head whips to her, just as startled as I am at the intrusion of a voice besides ours. “When the hell did you get stuff for burgers?”
She shrugs. “We stopped on the way back.”
He looks back at me and takes my hand. “Stay?”
It’s a terrible idea. One that’s going to bite us both in the ass.
But instead of making the sane decision to get in my car and go back to my own shop, there’s no way I’m going to leave.
The way he’s gripping my hand right now and the plea in his voice makes me think my Jax needs a hero of his own. He needs me to be here.
“Yeah. Burgers sound great.”
We pause at the passenger door of the engine so Jackson can shuck what he calls his bunker pants and slip into a pair of boots.
As he leads me by the hand through the bay, Cal rounds the back of the engine and shoots us a wink. “It’s about fucking time. Friends, my ass.” He leads us to the door to what I assume is the living quarters, where he turns back with a grin. “Friends don’t suck face like the two of you just did.”
My face burns with the heat of a thousand suns. “I’m going to die.”
The hand holding mine flexes, immediately reminding me of the words Jackson muttered mere moments ago, and I wince. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
“So all of you just stood around watching like a bunch of pervs?” Jackson tugs me closer as we enter a large room.
Plain white walls and coated concrete flooring give it a minimalist vibe.
One wall is decorated with the department emblem.
Oversized black leather recliners face a large-screen television.
A table with seating for at least six, maybe eight, sits off to the side, and on the other side of the room is a nicely furnished kitchen.
An island with a counter and sink separates the space.
“Yep. Pretty much.” Kate passes through to an exterior door on the other side of the kitchen, and I can see a small patio with a grill and picnic table beyond.